911 Operator: "911. What is your emergency?"
Me: Hyperventilating. "Yes, hello. I need you to send an officer to my house. Right now."
911 Operator: "Calm down, ma'am. What is the situation? Are you safe?"
Me: "Yes, I'm safe, but this is a very dire, very urgent problem. I'll need you to send someone immediately."
911 Operator: "Okay, ma'am. I'm dispatching someone to your property as we speak. What is the nature of your emergency?"
Me: "Yes, it's nature."
911 Operator: Pauses. "No, I mean, what is the problem?"
Me: In a whisper. "It's my son."
911 Operator: "Speak up, ma'am. I cannot hear you. What is the problem?"
Me: Shouting in despair. "It's my SON!"
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Look. I know that nap time is the only time you get away from the tiny, sticky fingers and wild, maniacal eyes of your 3-year-old.
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Naturally, I queried my friends first. But since they haven't lost their minds and would happily give me a winning Powerball ticket or their SUVs before handing out the names of their babysitters, I was left empty-handed.
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One hour and 20 minutes later, we exited. The middle child was wearing a Santa hat I’d apparently paid for, and my 3-year-old was lying on his belly on the bottom rack of the shopping cart, dragging his hands between my splayed legs as I walked cowgirl style out those automatic doors.
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